


Where the Love Light Gleams

by alphayamergo



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Shovel Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28312845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphayamergo/pseuds/alphayamergo
Summary: It wasn't the first time Theon has bought a Sevenmas present for Sansa, but itwasthe first time he'd had to buy her one after he got the most terrifying shovel talk of his life. Buying Sansa a present for their first Sevenmas as a couple was quickly shaping up to be one of the hardest tasks Theon had ever faced.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29
Collections: Theonsa Yuletide Gift Exchange





	Where the Love Light Gleams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gingersprite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersprite/gifts).



> Happy holidays, @gingersprites! I really hope you enjoy the fic, and that you're enjoying the holiday period, wherever you are in the world. I did a little bit of worldbuilding to make the holidays in the fic feel a little more Westerosi, but it's still absolutely a Christmas fic.

It’s not that Theon has never bought Sansa a present before. He’s been a permanent fixture in the Stark house for years: buying her birthday and Sevenmas presents came with the territory. It’s just that all those presents had always been little things, stockings stuffers and the like. Not anything you buy for a serious girlfriend.

And also, when he bought those presents, it had been before he got sat down by the Stark siblings and given the most terrifying shovel talk of his life.

“Look,” Robb had said. “You’re my best friend and I _do_ trust you, but after Joffrey -”

Jon had settled for glowering ominously in the background. Bran had very casually mentioned he had once hacked into the NSA and wasn’t afraid to do it again. Rickon had just let Shaggydog growl in his direction, which really was very effective.

The worst, though, had been Arya. Which wasn’t a surprise, because Arya was possibly the most terrifying person Theon had ever met, and he was from the Iron fucking Islands _._ When Arya Stark told you that no one would find your body, you believed her.

So. All in all, buying Sansa a Sevenmas present was quickly shaping up to be the hardest task Theon had ever faced.

-

Sevenmas at the Stark house was always a production. Sansa genuinely adored decorating the house. For as long as he could remember, Sansa was the first one to drag out the tinsel and the lights. Arya was always close behind – not because she particularly loved Sevenmas, but because doing the best decorations was a rivalry the sisters had never quite outgrown.

“Be back this afternoon,” said Sansa, kissing his cheek. She had her homemade Sevenmas sweater on, every last inch of it embroidered with snowflakes and reindeers. “Gotta beat Arya there.”

“Sansa,” said Theon, looking up from his cereal. “It’s six in the morning.”

“Yeah, and she gets up at four AM every morning to jog for an hour,” said Sansa. “I’m already running behind.”

“Go,” said Theon, waving her off. “I’ll meet you there later to help out with the winter wonderland.”

His real task for the day was to find her a present. Not just any present: a present that would put all her other presents to shame. Theon spent the morning on Winterfell’s high street, moving from department store to independent boutique to half-cleared out thrift stores. He was staring mournfully into the window of a jewellery store filled with earrings – pretty, sparkly, far-too-expensive-for-a-bartender earrings – when he felt a tap on the shoulder.

“Did you get the most terrifying talk of your life, too?” asked Gendry as Theon turned around.

“Oh, thank God, it wasn’t just me,” said Theon, then frowned. “Wait. Arya wouldn’t have threatened _you._ ”

“Arya? Oh, no,” said Gendry. “It was Sansa that took lead on threatening me. I don’t know how you do it, man. She’s fucking _terrifying._ ”

“Have you _met_ Arya?” asked Theon.

“Sansa threatened to feed certain parts of me to the dogs,” said Gendry, very seriously.

“Arya threatened to bury me in the woods ‘with the others’,” said Theon.

He and Gendry looked at each other for a long moment before Gendry said, far too cheerfully, “Well, we’re both fucked, aren’t we?”

“Little bit, yeah,” said Theon, giving Gendry a smile that ended up half a grimace.

“Well, you know in the tourist area by the castle?” asked Gendry. “There’s a store in there with all kinds of medieval shit – swords, armour, the work. I figure I’ve got to find something for Arya in there. Sansa’s not going to feed me to the dogs if I buy Arya weaponry, right?”

Theon thought about it. “No,” he decided. “Because Arya would buy it anyway, so at least you’re saving her money.”

“Perfect,” said Gendry. “Good luck with your search.”

Theon gave the jewellery store another mournful look. “Thanks,” he said. “I think I’m going to need it.”

The next store he found himself in was an independent bookshop. Sansa was doing her doctorate in literature studies and was always on his case to not buy books from Yeen. Buying not just from a physical bookstore, and an independent one at that, was sure to please her –

If there was anything to buy, of course.

He wandered the aisles, browsing the shelves. Little seemed like it would appeal to Sansa, and none of it seemed personal enough. He checked the last corner of the last store, certain that it was another bust, when he saw it.

It was a large, hardcover book of tales from the Riverlands. The scene etched into its cover was one even Theon could recognise: Jonquil bathing in her pool as Florian the fool peered out from behind the trees. Each story inside was illustrated with the same care in watercolour.

Sansa adored the fairy tales and songs from her mother’s home: even her doctorate was about gender roles in the Riverlands’ old romance ballads. But that was the problem – this was her _doctorate_. He’d heard her vent often enough that he hesitated, his hands still brushing over the pages.

Would she really want something that already consumed her waking hours?

He needed advice.

-

Theon really should have known that Yara and Daenerys were going to be no help. Yara and Sansa couldn’t be more different if they tried, and Sansa and Daenerys had had a long-standing rivalry that no one but the two of them ever seemed to really understand. Still, he found himself draped over his sister’s couch one afternoon, staring at the ceiling and lamenting, “Then Arya told me that she’d bury me in the woods like the others -”

“She can’t have killed the others,” interrupted Yara. “I still see that little shit-stain, Joffrey, in high society magazines every other day.”

“Give me time,” muttered Daenerys darkly.

“High society magazines?” repeated Theon, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

Yara waved him off. “The point is, _you_ aren’t the one who needs to be scared of anything.”

“Why did you emphasize – oh, by the old Gods and the New,” said Theon. “Please tell me you didn’t give Sansa the shovel talk.”

“Shovel talk makes it sound so petty,” said Yara, turning away. Theon stared hopelessly at Daenerys, who only nodded solemnly at him.

“Fuck, did you join in?” asked Theon. “You don’t even have a stake in this!” Daenerys didn’t bother to dignify him with a response, and Theon groaned. He sat up and said, “The point is, I need to get Sansa a fucking fantastic present or Arya may or may not flay me.”

“Joffrey’s head on a pike,” suggested Yara, at the exact same time as Daenerys said, “Dragons.”

“Why did I even ask?” muttered Theon, burying his face in his hands.

-

The Starks were a multifaith household, and while Sevenmas was definitely the biggest production, Theon had always preferred the Long Night as a winter holiday. Held on the winter solstice, the longest day of the year, those who held to the Old Gods gathered together for their largest feast of the year, celebrating the approaching end of winter and the defeat of the White Walkers on this night, thousands of years before. It wasn’t as loud a celebration as Sevenmas, nor the theatrics – but Theon liked the quiet joy of being with family better anyway.

The Ironborn festivals and holidays were tied to the storm seasons, not the cold: their most important celebration was when the storm season came to an end. The Storm God was defeated for another year, and the Ironborn were free to return to their lives for another year, safe in the knowledge that the Drowned God had protected them. The Starks had incorporated that celebration over the years, too, as Theon spent more and more time in their house.

He had been going to the Starks for the Long Night feast for years, and would have been welcome this year regardless of his relationship with Sansa. Still, as Sansa took his hand while they waited for her parents to answer the door and let them in, Theon couldn’t help staring at the house a little apprehensively. The Long Night was family and yeah, he’d been welcome before – but coming with Sansa felt like a _statement._

“Stop worrying,” chided Sansa, giving him an exasperated smile. She brushed the hair out of his eyes and added, “It’s not a big deal. Rickon’s bringing Shireen. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Did anybody threaten Shireen?” asked Theon.

“Did anyone _what_ – I am going to _murder_ Arya,” sputtered Sansa.

“Only if you help me murder Yara,” said Theon.

Even with her face only half-lit by fairy lights, the redness creeping up Sansa’s cheeks was unmistakable. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you don’t know that my sister threatened you within an inch of your life? I know you’re tough, Sans, but I didn’t think you’d miss that,” said Theon.

“Did she say something?” asked Sansa. “I didn’t think that I did that badly.”

“You’re fine,” said Theon. Sansa laced her fingers through his. “Honestly, your bigger concern is still Dany. You’ll melt Yara any day now.”

“And Arya’s all bite,” said Sansa. “Honestly, if there’s anyone on _my_ end you need to worry about, it’s Margaery. If anyone could destroy someone’s life without so much as blinking -” She broke off as she saw Theon’s wide eyes, and quickly added, “Not that that’s something you need to worry about. Sweetheart.”

The door opened to reveal Arya. “Sorry that took so long!” she said. “Come on in, Sansa, _Theon._ ” When Arya turned to head back up the hall, Theon looked at Sansa with wide eyes.

“Did you hear that?” he hissed. Ahead of them, smugness radiated off Arya.

“She’s just messing with you,” said Sansa, tugging him inside.

-

It was time to call in the War Council.

Jeyne was his first call: as Sansa’s oldest friend, she knew the best presents Sansa had gotten over the years. Margaery was his second; the ability to destroy his life without blinking aside, she was one of Sansa’s closest friends, and knew better than most what Sansa would like.

“I need your help,” he declared. “I need to get Sansa the perfect present to keep Arya from killing me.”

Seated next to each other on the couch, Margaery and Jeyne exchanged a look. After a moment, Margaery suggested, “Have you looked at jewellery?”

“There’s nothing I can afford,” said Theon.

“What ideas have you already had?” asked Jeyne.

“I’m glad you asked,” said Theon, and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through the long list on his notes app, reading it aloud: “There were some books with, you know, Florian and Jonquil and all of that, but I figured she already has enough copies – earrings were way too expensive – not gonna lie, I did consider getting her another puppy -”

“Oh my _gods_ ,” said Jeyne, staring at him. “I’ve known you since I was seven and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you put this much effort into anything.”

Theon rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, the last time she dated a guy, it was _Joffrey_ , and I just need to -”

“Nobody thinks you’re Joffrey, Theon,” said Margaery. “You love her and she loves you. I know all her siblings gave you the shovel talk, but trust me: not a single one of them is actually worried.”

“I’ve known her through every single one of her relationships,” said Jeyne. “I think this one is the one she’s been happiest in, and the rest of the Starks can see that, too.”

 _The one she’s been happiest in._ Theon took a deep breath. He wasn’t fucking this up. Sansa was as happy with him as he was with her. That – that was – that was really, really fucking good.

He cleared his throat and said, “I also thought of getting her some house decorations?”

Margaery and Jeyne exchanged an exasperated, knowing look. With a long-suffering sigh, Margaery said, “Give the list here.”

-

“Those hair barrets _are_ cute, but you’re right, not really _serious boyfriend_ gift – I might actually get that for her myself, good idea, Theon -”

“She’s already got a calligraphy set, so there’s no point getting another one.”

“Lightsaber chopsticks?” Margaery looked directly at him. “Seriously?”

“She likes Star Wars!” protested Theon.

“Maybe as a stocking stuffer,” said Jeyne. “That’s way more Bran, though.”

Theon sighed, looked down at his notes hopelessly. “I could propose?”

“ _No,_ ” said Margaery, with the kind of firmness Theon could only dream of. Theon slumped.

-

On the eve of Sevenmas, with no other ideas, Theon went back to the antique bookstore. The set of Riverlandish fairy tales were still there, the watercolour illustrations as delicate as he remembered. He hesitated before picking it up.

 _She’ll like this_ , he told himself firmly. If she could get through three out of four years of her doctorate and still not hate the stories, then she wasn’t going to hate an illustrated copy. Especially considering how battered her paperback copy was; Theon was pretty sure the pages were on the verge of falling out after watching her thumb her way through it last weekend.

Wrapping presents had never been his forte, but he stuck a bow on to it and called it good. It was the thought that counted and besides, Sansa had been getting Arya’s messy presents, usually with the sticky-tape peeling off and revealing the gift, all her life. At least Theon’s was more presentable than _that._

Sevenmas dawned clear and bright, snow blanketing the ground. Theon’s present was deposited safely under the Sevenmas tree, wedged between a box for Arya and a present for Rickon. Sansa’s present for him was larger than he would have expected, propped up behind the tree and against the wall. In the midst of torn paper and the dogs trying to sniff each and every present, Theon pulled his gift out from under the tree and handed it to Sansa.

“Happy Sevenmas, Sansa,” he said.

Sansa studied the present, shooting him a curious look, before she gave in and tore away the paper. Her eyes widened as she took in the cover, and she flicked through the pages before she looked back up at him. “This is _beautiful_ ,” she said.

“I thought it might help with your PhD,” said Theon. “Must be easier to keep rereading it when it’s so pretty to look at?”

“Definitely,” said Sansa, her smile blinding. She got to her feet and pulled her own gift out from behind the tree. “I spent so long trying to work out what to give you – but I think I got it.”

Theon tore away the wrapping paper, stopping halfway through as he started to take in what he was seeing. There were three canvases, stacked on top of each other for wrapping, each with a picture printed on it. They showed sweeping vistas of stony beaches, stormy seas and crumbling keeps.

“Pyke,” he breathed. Together, the three canvases made up a triptych of the view from Pyke.

“They’re photos from when Arya was backpacking across the continent,” said Sansa. “I thought that you’d really appreciate something from home.”

“It’s perfect,” he declared. He tugged her in close and kissed her. Sansa rested her free hand against the back of his neck, kissing him back until she finally pulled away.

“I was so worried about getting it right,” said Sansa. “I wanted our first Sevenmas to be perfect – then Yara threatened me and -” She stopped as he burst out laughing. “What?”

“I did the same thing,” he admitted. “Your sister is terrifying. I even called in Margaery and Jeyne.”

“Is _that_ why they were being so mysterious last week?” asked Sansa. “They could have told me you were having trouble, too!”

Theon just laughed again, resting his head against hers. “You nailed it, though.” He kissed her again. Sansa was still smiling against his lips when he a small solid object collided with the side of his head.

“ _Arya_ ,” groaned Sansa, turning to her sister, her hand still holding his. “Why did Gendry have to get her that nerf gun?”

“I can brave a few nerf guns,” said Theon.

“You better,” said Sansa, squeezing his hand.

“Only for you, though,” said Theon. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Sansa reeled him back in, giving him a short, sweet kiss before promising, “Forever.”


End file.
